Page 24 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

My mouth drops open and I gasp as I take in the carved wooden penis dangling from the necklace. Heat rushes to my face as embarrassment and anger war within me.

“What… what is this?” I sputter. After taking a step back, I lean closer, hoping it’s not what it looked like at first blush, but no, it’s an erect penis, complete with plump, dangling balls.

Anxiety coils in my guts, tying my insides into knots and making my throat constrict. Is this some kind of joke? AmIsome type of joke to him?

Or maybe he’s not who I thought he was. Maybe he’s like the guy in college who seduced me until I gave him my virginity, then laughed about it with all his friends and half the dorm.

I try to master my breathing, fighting to stop a panic attack.

“Do you think I’m some kind of… of whore? What kind of woman do you think I am? Who… who would want a gift like this?”

He holds the necklace out toward me for another beat, then his smile falters, confusion and hurt replacing the excitement in his eyes as he lowers his hand, dropping the offensive necklace onto the grass. But I’m too furious to care, my words spilling out with so much heat I don’t have the self-control to censor them.

“I thought we had aconnection, that weunderstoodeach other,respectedeach other,honoredeach other. But this? This is completely inappropriate! How could you think I’d wantthat?” I gaze at the thing on the ground and have to force myself not to stomp on the damn thing, just as his giving me this thoughtless gift stomped on my heart.

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and storm out of the atrium, leaving a stunned Thrax in my wake.

I’m so caught up in my indignation that I nearly collide with Laura in the hallway. She takes one look at my flushed face and asks, “Skye? What’s wrong?”

I explain in hurried, angry whispers, expecting sympathy. Instead, Laura bursts into laughter.

“How can you laugh?” I demand, my frustration growing. I can barely restrain myself from stamping my foot like a three-year-old. “This isn’t funny!” I’m too proud to tell her I allowed myself to feel so much affection for the man that my heart isaching.

Laura’s laughter subsides, and she focuses seriously on me as she realizes how hurt I am. “Oh, Skye.” She shakes her head. “You’ve got it all wrong. In ancient Rome, phalluses were everywhere. They weren’t considered obscene or pornographic. They were symbols of good luck and protection.”

My anger deflates, replaced by confusion. My brow furrows as I ask, “What?”

Laura pulls out her phone, quickly summoning a series of images. “Look,” she says, scrolling through dozens of pictures. “Rings, necklaces, even gravestones—all with phalluses on them. They were talismans, meant to ward off bad luck and evil spirits.”

As I take in the images, my earlier outburst plays back in my mind. Oh, God. What have I done?

“I… I need to go,” I stammer, already turning toward the atrium. “I need to apologize.”

Laura gives my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Go on. And Skye? Remember, cultural differences can be tricky. Always try to understand before you judge.”

Nodding, I hurry back to the atrium, my heart heavy with regret. Isn’t this like what happened with the thumbs-up sign? I, of all people, should know that my relationship with Thrax will be riddled with misunderstandings like this.

I just hope Thrax forgives me for jumping to conclusions—and gives me a chance to make up for rejecting the gift he put so much effort into creating.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thrax

The world spins, reality crumbling around me as Skye storms away. Her words echo in my ears, each one like a knife stabbing my gut. Whore? Inappropriate? The carving I poured my heart into, the symbol of protection and luck I gave as a gift, made her feel disrespected. The wordsstultusandasinuscircle my mind, mocking me.

My legs give way, and I sink to my knees in the soft grass. The necklace lies there, mocking me. With trembling hands, I grab it, wanting to destroy this physical example of my stupidity.

A strange rumbling sound fills the air, growing louder by the second. My gaze is drawn skyward, and there it is—a metal bird, just as Varro described. An airplane. It soars overhead, stark silver against the blue sky. The sight hits me like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

This is real. This is now. There’s no going back.

The weight of two thousand years crashes down on me. How can I possibly belong here, in this world of flying machines and misunderstood gestures? Every step forward seems to push me two steps back. Perhaps it would have been better to remain frozen beneath the sea, lost to time and memory.

Voices drift from open windows, snippets of conversation in languages I don’t understand. The scent of flowers mingles with the harsh smell of cleaning products. Even the grass beneath my fingers feels wrong, too soft, too perfect, too even.

“Thrax!”

Skye’s voice cuts through my haze of despair. She’s running toward me, her face a mask of concern and regret. Part of me wants to stand, to meet her, but my body refuses to cooperate. I remain kneeling, the necklace clutched in my fist.

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